


I'll be a regular guy for you, I never said I'd do that

by collaborativesheriartyparty



Series: To What End? [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, rating and tags will be updated as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 08:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collaborativesheriartyparty/pseuds/collaborativesheriartyparty
Summary: How will they handle being under threat?





	1. waiting on the planet to turn to me, dark side

**[Five days later]**

Turns out that specific brand of underwear you wore at the hospital is legitimate. Helped solve the case and, as it turns out, the killer has a type. Apparently I made a very convincing rentboy. -SH

Well, now I have to know what comprised the rest of the outfit. -JM

Tight-fitting shirt, even tighter trousers, watch with an alarm, and a cigarette. Like bees to honey they came. Not my most convincing disguise, but it worked. -SH

I bet it did. -JM

If you neglected to take a selfie, I'm instantly jealous of everyone who saw you. But work is work. -JM

Maybe you'll get a demonstration in person one of these days. Speaking of which, I DID solve it. I am curious how you knew about this case if you didn't orchestrate it. -SH

Client once upon a time (unrelated so don't ask.) Something seemed off about him even to me. Monitored his emails, pieced it together, opportunity arose and I knew you'd have more fun with it than I could. -JM

I see. A fun case, altogether. Spending hours putting a single piece of paper back together, finding you on the sofa instead of the killer, and playing dress-up. Seems as if you'll have to step up your game. -SH

Says the man stealing MY disguise elements. -JM

I didn't "steal" them. You inspired me and they got a killer off the streets. Making the switch over to my side, are we? -SH

You'd be out of a job if I did. -JM

Can't argue with that. Now, I believe you mentioned a 'next time' once the case was solved. Any clarification? -SH

I may have had intentions of inviting you to mine. -JM

But as I've just moved, may need some time. -JM

I see. Got yourself a stalker? -SH

[Funny you say that. DELETED]   I rarely stay in one place long. -JM

Thought so, given your line of work. Never know who's out there gunning for you. No pun intended. -SH

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks, as it were. -JM

Thinking of you, though. -JM

You too. Suppose you've earned a break anyway, though expect a text a day asking if you've settled in yet. -SH

  -JM

Excuse me, Mr. We-Were-Made-For-Each-Other? Just because you said it through a dummy doesn't make it any less your words. -SH

It was a joke, sweetness. -JM

Right. Sorry. Just impatient. I might have rushed solving the case for...reasons. -SH

Few more days. -JM

But dig up some other disguise and stagger your transit. -JM

Afraid someone might try to rent me out? -SH

More requisite paranoia. -JM

Charming of you to worry, but I haven't gotten into any trouble just yet, nor pissed anyone off recently. -SH

Great for you, maybe I have. -JM

Please. Who on Earth could intimidate you? -SH

No one tries and lives long. -JM

I'm sure they don't. But I do have places to be and people want to see me, so as amusing as another disguise sounds, I do have adult work to do. -SH

I'm being serious. -JM

Fine, I'll be careful. But I can handle myself, if that's what you're worried about. -SH

Never. JM

Of course not. -SH

[delay] Counting the hours here too, alright? -JM

Feel free to tell me to piss off, but it seems like something's distracting you that isn't me. -SH

[Brilliant deduction. DELETED]  And not as fun either. -JM

I understand, work is work. We can talk at a later time. -SH

Better explained in person, thus furniture ASAP. -JM

Is that punishment for not pouncing? -JM

Wasn't meant to be, just thought you had more pressing matters at the moment. -SH

We can talk, or do you only fancy me in a good mood? -JM

People usually don't enjoy talking if they're in a bad mood. Prone to snapping and lashing out and all that. Which I can handle, but still. -SH

I always like talking to you. -JM

[So do I. DELETED]  Then talk. Tell me what's got you so on edge. -SH

Anything else. -JM

...alright. Why don't you tell me what kind of curtains you're going to put up. Or how many locks you'll be putting on the door this time. -SH

Black and no less than four. -JM

Meet anyone cute while playing renter? -JM

Interesting. An odd thing to ask given our situation. If I said yes, would it upset you? -SH

Met doesn't mean kissed. -JM

They all had a dead-eyes look about them. Seemed scared, mostly. A few were clearly too young to be out that late. They were happy to share tips, though. -SH

All safer now thanks to you. -JM

For now, yes. Who's to say about tomorrow. -SH

Going to celebrate? -JM

Maybe with violin and tea. Doesn't feel like much of a celebration, though. -SH

Futility is strange that way. -JM

Don't imagine you could spare an hour or two to join me. Couldn't have done it without you, after all. -SH

Where. -JM

Oh. Didn't think you'd want to. Our old Osborn St. haunt? -SH

Want to lie low, too public. -JM

Could offer my flat, if I'm given time to get John out. -SH

No, never mind, you were right, I'll keep my mood to myself. -JM

What did I do wrong? -SH

Not you. I swear. -JM

Hard to believe that. -SH

You should, though. -JM

I'm getting a little tired of playing this game. If you're busy, or don't want to see me for whatever reason, then say so. -SH

Fine. Yes. I'm busy considering how best to obliterate a threat to my peace. If I could spend the time haranguing you for rentboy selfies, or kissing you senseless, trust me I would. -JM

And it's so detrimental that you can't spare but an hour? To take the edge off something you helped achieve? -SH

Even risking it all for you has its limits, some days. Don't be angry. -JM

I'm not. Just confused. But appreciate the sacrifice. -SH

[delay] You have more to lose than I do. -SH

I don't know if that's true. What I do know is I'll have the flat sorted soon, and if you're willing to take the precautions I mentioned, I want to have you over. Maybe even for breakfast too. -JM

A reasonable enough request for a handsome reward. Alright, you won't hear a peep out of me. -SH

[slight delay] Wouldn't mind another voicemail serenade. -JM

I'll see what I can muster up. That last piece was an original cacophany. -SH

I listen to it from time to time. -JM

That's good. Didn't record it for my health. -SH

Just remember not to be offended if I don't answer when you ring, then. Night, lover. x  -JM

It could have gone better but could have gone worse, Jim thought lifelessly as he set the phone aside. He regretted the majority of the conversation, turning Sherlock away, his own secrecy. But he wasn't about to start throwing Magnussen's name around via text messages, despite whatever foolishly personal things had occurred in the same format. Nor was he inclined to worry Sherlock before he knew precisely what they were dealing with and why. He would come up with just the right solution and handle it himself if possible, and there was no reason to think it wasn't. But aggravated, disconcerted, scatterbrained, paranoid, too blunt and woefully underdressed meanwhile...Sherlock should be kept from that, as he wasn't the cause. That the incriminating photos were practically burning a hole in Jim's desk drawer, would be his own damn business until he decided otherwise. They weren't a couple, hadn't agreed to anything _serious_ , and it might all scare Sherlock off. 

Then again, entirely likely Jim would do that on his own if he weren't careful.

Better to stay away, no matter how regrettable. 

And even a genius, if paying less-than-perfect attention, could cock up Ikea directions.

-

Sherlock Holmes was never one to re-read text messages. No deeper meaning or ulterior motive would spring forth on a third or seventh read through and so it was useless. So if one was go find him scrolling back through the archive between himself and Jim, it was only to try and figure the puzzle. He wasn’t mad, not really anyway, more so perplexed at what happened. He’d been promised a future time and date when they could meet next, should he solve the case, and he did. Where he had been eager to text his accomplishment, he was left in the dark with more questions than answers. There was the lingering excitement to see the man again, but hesitation as well, in case he truly had screwed up and done something. Nothing could be done about it now and sitting around dwelling on it made him want to smoke an entire carton of cigarettes at once. Well. Jim had asked to be serenaded and so he would.

Breathing a sigh of exhaustion more than irritation, Sherlock peered at the violin still set up from the previous time he’d recorded a private concert. He’d felt unsure back then, what the two of them were to each other and if it was even wise to pursue anything further. He’d worked better improvising than trying to come up with anything beforehand, but he had time now and could actually think. Sleep was calling the detective’s name, regretting truly committing to the rent boy persona and their late night escapades. He stifled it in favour of reaching for a pencil, copying down a few cursory notes at the desk before resting head in hand, nodding off before he’d even gotten to the 30-second mark.

Waking the following morning with a severe crick in his neck and an even more stiff back, he yawned and pulled himself up to make a cup of tea, dumping nearly the rest of the remaining sugar in the cup. Enough energy was needed should Sherlock want to write and compose the piece before the end of the day. John knew better than to bother him when he was near the violin and so silence was abundant, and welcomed. The notes came more easily than he imagined they would, hoping Jim would appreciate the thought going into the piece this time. Playing it through for the first time was a bit rough and he made some changes accordingly until it sounded smooth and effortless. Calling Jim and hoping he wouldn’t answer, as he wasn’t sure he could play it live, he breath a sigh of relief when greeted with the generic voicemail recording and drew the bow up to the strings. 

The piece wasn’t long at all, simply a fun little ditty that he wanted more to put a smile on the listener’s face than anything. He’d plucked a note too hard at one point but finished anyway, setting the violin down and bringing the phone up to his ear to finish off the message.  “I’ll be ready when you are.”

-


	2. trying to find tomorrow

Jim wasn't worried, per se. He had plans and justifications and _very_ believable bullshit at the mental ready. But the fact that it had happened, that they'd let their guards down publicly - perhaps that was what he most feared Sherlock realizing. Even if it was a rare, beautiful thing in some way, neither could afford it if they wanted to stay in business.

So, no, he wasn't exactly in a rush to clue Sherlock in. And he could mask what urgency he felt to find out what the hell Magnussen wanted. A few most likely possibilities came to mind, but so long as no further threat was thrown his way, the appointment he'd made through the bastard's PA for next week would have to do. Jim would have ample time to consider the angles of each possibility, and if such a meeting ended with Magnussen still breathing, then the magnate was a lucky man.

What he was worried about...ah, but he didn't like admitting that to himself. It _shouldn't matter_ if he lost Sherlock. He'd gotten more of the man than...possibly anyone, ever, and what had started as an exciting series of surprises needn't go further than that. Whether things could progress or deepen should not have been on either of their minds. Jim could easily refuse to care one way or another, or so he told himself, and Sherlock, he felt quite certain, could swivel as painlessly and more rapidly to boot.

This certainty offered distressing little comfort, and _that_ was more terrifying than any potential threat.

But he hadn't retreated, he thought, or been too sharp. Simply practical, given current concerns. Asking the utmost carefulness from Sherlock, was _not_ asking too much. And he might take more steps towards practical security - the thought of the next flat also housing his chief sniper had fleetingly crossed his mind - but until he spoke to Magnussen, there was no way of knowing how deep the issue ran. So despite the initial freak-out, he could only enjoy what time he had with Sherlock, and the music he'd been gifted wasn't angry, no no, more...hopeful. Light, airy, a bit of frantic pique, sure, but...something sweet about it. As lively as Sherlock made him feel, in sudden bursts here and there.

He'd very much almost picked up the phone, too. Asked Sherlock, _say, have you had any strange mail lately?_ Asked him, _what could make you drop this, if it seemed we had to?_

The music was far nicer.

Hearing Sherlock's voice was nice, too.

Jim saved the voicemail but once done, kept his phone in hand, eyeing the time. He'd dealt with a few potential clients today, did that not earn him a break? The only important scheduled call wasn't for a while yet, and if Sherlock was pissing the day away with violin, he wouldn't be busy, either. Just a short break, a little hello, for no other reason than because he felt like it, and he didn't _have_ to stop himself from such things any more. How frustrating that had been, as phases went; the ache of wanting Sherlock and not having him. They were past that, whatever being past it was worth. And what did Ready mean, exactly? Jim wouldn't ask but then, he didn't have to.

If Jim were truly wise and honest with himself and their options, he'd probably start anew on keeping his distance. Sherlock didn't yet have the context requiring such a decision, lucky boy, and that very lack, Jim reasoned, bought them more time. Whatever of doom the music hadn't cleared from Jim's mind, he pushed out forcefully before pressing Call.

-

Writing the sheet music for his piece had come more naturally than Sherlock had expected, leaving a good chunk of his day open. No unexpected calls from the Yard, no current cases as of yet and no pesky brothers knocking annoyingly in a pattern on his door. It was rare that he actually had a day to do, well, nothing. Something in and of itself felt off, as if he was forgetting to do something rather important. Knowing that wasn’t the case as he rarely forgot even the most insignificant dates, it was chalked up to a blessing in disguise and Sherlock opted to lay down for a well-deserved catnap. Twenty minutes at the most so as to be ready - mind and body both - if he did need to shoot off somewhere at a moment’s notice.

Curled up on the sofa with phone in hand, he did nod off for a bit before his ringtone went off, startling him awake as he begrudgingly checked both the time and the caller to see if they could be swiftly ignored. Blinking rapidly to un-blur his vision, Sherlock brought the phone to his ear and mumbled out a greeting. “Did you get the message?”

-

Jim's eyes slid lightly closed.

He hated it, but he'd probably make an attempt mano a mano on a bodyguard-surrounded Magnussen, for That Voice.

Well, he'd pay Sebastian to.

Either way, the act of savoring an apparently sleepy Sherlock was an immediate leveler.

"Adored it," Jim drew the O out in answer. He knew Sherlock would bask in what compliments he gave the piece, and he would in time, but the impulse to deflect from his own thoughts at the moment was stronger than the urge to make his darling flush with pride. "If I woke you, I'm only...mm, about sixty percent sorry...want to ring me back later?"

-

Sherlock would willingly give up the remaining eighteen minutes of his nap in exchange for the opportunity to talk with Jim, though unable to hide the tiredness in his already deep voice. “I wasn’t asleep,” he said, rolling over onto his stomach with his face in a pillow. “Or waiting for your call.” This was muffled, hidden by the cushion but a thought that was voiced anyway as he pushed the pillow aside and opted for the soda cushion instead.

“Besides, I know how busy you are. Haven’t got much going on today anyway, so long as I don’t end up writing a whole symphony for you.” He eyed the violin with a raised brow, crushing the thought rather quickly. They weren’t quite that serious yet, he told himself. “Did you call hoping to hear it live?”

-

Jim had to strain his attention to hear through the muffle, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in thought. _Very convincing, pointing out not waiting for me to call. Not._ His mouth quirked in a small smirk. If he had to end up missing Sherlock someday, he'd miss even these adorable little lies, things Sherlock said just to make Jim notice them, knowing he would.  
  
A bittersweet thought. He got up from his chair with a mental sigh, soon to pace but meanwhile fiddling with a USB drive plucked up from the desk. A whole symphony, huh? Did Sherlock have enough feelings about him to fill that many pages of sheet music? How excessive and flattering, or would be if Jim weren't struggling still with more distracting matters. He licked his lips. "No, no, just to talk, but maybe in person someday soon," he suggested with a fabricated touch of bright hopefulness before falling back to a mumble that trailed off. "So long as we...those...precautions, I mentioned..."

Try as he might, he couldn't forget that they'd be necessary enough to remind Sherlock now, even if it would put the sharp detective's hackles up in a potentially unpleasant manner.

-

Playing in front of Jim? He considered this, what he would play, what to wear, if he should offer a private backstage tour afterward. A thought best stowed away in the back of his head, though Sherlock made a mental note to rummage through his closet later. It couldn’t possibly rival Jim’s own, but he was certain he could find something to the man’s liking.

Recalling the precautions took no time at all, including their conversation after that. Things had been undeniably tense as Sherlock tried to fish for information from an unforgivably dry pond. Changing the subject hadn’t done much to quell his suspicion despite Jim’s best efforts. He probably wasn’t so forthcoming about the issue still and was it worth it to try and press? Flattering, in a way, that he was trying to protect both of them and that wasn’t Sherlock’s main gripe, but rather who from.

“The only disguise I’ve got left is a police uniform. Are you sure that’s any more discreet?” he teased, biting back a cocky smirk at the implications of him showing up at Jim’s doorstep with a pair of handcuffs.

-

Jim's mind raced over the pros and cons of that particular disguise for only a few harried seconds before he tried to force it clear again. "...ah...let me think on that," he suggested. He hadn't called Sherlock to talk logistics, not really, not when he might let slip at any second the harsh reality of it all. "We can always go somewhere else, too. Maybe with your rentboy disguise, instead." What sort of awful conditions and numbness would have to creep over Jim, to de-prioritize seeing _that_? But he hadn't especially called to flirt, either. Then why?

"But, look," he cleared his throat. "I realize I may have...put a damper on your post-case high, when we texted. I didn't mean to. Considering it's your _only_ high nowadays, I could've..."

Waited? Feigned enthusiasm when he felt like nervous shit? Maybe not. But Jim wasn't used to churning out genuine apologies, so the sentence trailed off as listlessly as others had.

-

The rentboy get-up. Not a disguise, technically, if it was just stuff that he already had lying around and clothes already in his closet. He bit his cheek to keep from telling Jim as much but gave a thoughtful little hum as a visual indicator that he was thinking about it. They’d be hard-pressed to find somewhere in London where Sherlock hadn’t haunted before, so whatever disguise he settles on had to be believable.

A sigh escaped before he could force it back. “You didn’t hurt my feelings, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Sherlock tossed out flippantly, waving a hand in the air to emphasize the sentiment. “Something’s obviously got you occupied at work that you can’t tell me for whatever reason. I’m a grown-up and I can handle that.” His voice softened a bit as he considered his next words. “If it’s dangerous, I do hope you’ll let me know, though.”

-

Maybe not his feelings, but to ruin a post-case high still felt to Jim like the worst form of blasphemy, the only destruction he'd never purposely cause. It deserved as much of an explanation as Jim could provide without confiding fully. _Define "dangerous"?,_ he wanted to ask, but, ah, the answer would be too obvious. And if Sherlock had gotten strange mail, he'd have let on by now.

He wet his lips in thought, dropping the USB back to the desk and rubbing at his neck with his free hand. "I will," Jim promised, "Once I have a better idea of the big picture of it. But until then...Preoccupied is a good way to put it." He'd begun to pace in what little room the new flat offered, but slowed again to issue an admission that doubled as a warning. "Not sure I'd be much fun, if we meet up again before that."

-

“So...there is something.” Maybe this pond wasn’t as dry as he thought it’d be, but he wasn’t expecting a catch of the day, either. Sherlock went quiet for a moment to assess whether it would be fruitful or not to try and press once more. If Jim Moriarty was preoccupied about something, it could spell danger for both of them or for the other party. He could only hope it was the latter.

He answered Jim’s lament with an amused scoff. “As if I only see you because you’re fun,” he mused, giving an unseen shrug. “If you’ve got a case that you need solved, I do hope you don’t have another detective you’d rather have solve it. I’d be quite upset.”

-

Jim found himself swallowing another rare - very rare - stab of guilt. Here Sherlock was apparently willing to spend time with him in any mood, and he was jeopardizing that, and much more, with every pitfall involved in secret-keeping. But even under these conditions, Sherlock managed to pull the charm out of him. "Oh, baby," Jim's sudden, flirtatious smile was evident in his voice, "You know you're the only detective for me." He may not be telling the whole truth, alright, so what, when had he ever? But the provocative tone professed _a_ truth Sherlock would appreciate.

-

Sherlock already, in fact, knew that. Not to be pompous - which he undoubtedly was - but the man over the phone was not one to share his feelings with anyone but one at a time. Shallow feelings could be doled out to any random person on the street though the emotions that mattered? Sherlock himself found it tedious enough to pretend to care about two people in the same room so for Jim to consider having feelings for more than one human at a time? The odds weren’t high. These mundane inferences were enough to touch an edge of softness to his voice as he responded in kind. “Only one in the world. If I can’t solve your case, it simply must be unsolvable and therefore nothing to worry about.”

-

There was something in the way Sherlock's tone had shifted from barely disguised curiosity ready to chomp at whatever bit it was thrown, to a certain gentleness. It made the criminal cock his head for a moment like a perplexed puppy as he tried to suss out what, precisely, had caused the change. He tried to find a trap in it, or reverse psychology, because either would have made more sense than the conclusion he came to. Sherlock _cared_. Maybe really, genuinely cared. And that was so strange that his own tone was too dismissively, musically playful when he asked, "Is this you trying to assure me?"

-

Assuring wasn’t exactly something Sherlock was known for, was it? Assuring was meant to put someone at ease, have them put all their faith into an unforeseen happy ending that was almost never a guarantee. Not really his motivation seeing as he had to care about someone to assure them everything would work out in the end. Still, he made promises to no one, including and especially Jim Moriarty, if he couldn’t follow through. “I’m assuring nothing except the next time we meet. Did you have anything in mind?”  

-

...alright, so perhaps Jim had taken Sherlock's caring _too_ lightly; no wonder Sherlock disavowed it a moment after it had shown itself. He wasn't sure how to feel about that mistake, or even whether it truly counted as one. Better to blow past it, just as his counterpart was doing, though he was silent a few seconds while considering how best to answer that. Sudden flashback to the floor of that house, Sherlock's body against his own... "A couple things come to mind, yeah..." But he'd already warned he may not feel up for much fun. It might all depend  _when_ they saw each other next - changeable, and easily derailed by Sherlock's appeal, as ever.

-

Sherlock had to commend his counterpart for being delicate, at least. He was getting better at picking up on what Jim actually meant versus what he said, any deeper meanings that didn’t need to be vocalized. Those things, after all, came to his own mind as well. If they weren’t being too careful, the conversation may end up taking a raunchy turn. “A date and or a time, Jim,” he laughed into the receiver, the sound seeming odd to him. “Preferably in a house that we’re supposed to be in.”

-

The laughter warmed something inside of Jim he hadn't even realized needed warming. It didn't cure every ill, no, no, but the richness of it made him feel lighter. Bolder, too. Could he see Sherlock and manage not to mention it all, not until he'd taken care of it? Of course he could; he hadn't changed  _that_ much.

"In that case...any pressing plans tomorrow night?"

It may have been entirely unreasonable to assume they should see each other with such frequency, especially now. But Jim still felt hope spring forward, that the answer would be no.

-

“Nothing as pressing as I hope _you_ might be,” Sherlock’s reply tumbled out, unfiltered, unchecked by his constantly double-checking mind. He was fairly certain that Jim wouldn’t mind too much, hearing his genuine thoughts rather than whatever wall or facade he was used to hiding behind. Safer that way, too, lest he run the risk of driving the only individual away that he actually wanted closer with pompous declarations in an attempt to impress. Would it kill him to let slip a few authentic desires here and there?

Probably. He’d take that risk.

“Provided you get a good night’s rest this time, where would you like me?” he inquired, already recognizing that familiar warmth at just the idea of them being able to meet again.

-

...call Jim crazy, but he was starting to think Sherlock had woken from his catnap with a stiffy.

He'd created a monster, it seemed. This wasn't really a problem, aside from the sudden laxity and warmth in Jim's face that found him staring, blinking up at the ceiling wondering some variation of _why, God?_ Because of course Sherlock's provocations were a happy surprise, an effective distraction fleeting though it would likely be.

He could have stuck to his guns with more gusto, put up a better fight, wonder if Sherlock had really learned to pass around Jim's perils when granted no entrance through the gates without. But on such a certain, nearly foolproof distraction? He couldn't help pouncing while stalling for time, smile turning wolfish, voice dripping with honey.

"On any available surface?"

-

He’d sort of walked into that one, Sherlock idly thought as the implications of Jim’s words ran rampant through his imagination. He wasn’t quite the expert that he led Jim to believe just yet, still feeling a bit clunky around the harmless flirting and innuendos that others could toss around so freely. Still, this was fun, he would argue. And quite the opposite of boring.  
  
“Why don’t we start with a bed?” came the teasing suggestion, the truth hidden somewhere in it. Any available surface sounded appealing in theory, but if he had to kick off any sexual career anywhere else but somewhere comfortable, he would be quite indignant.

-

If Jim had begun to warm to the distraction, it was likely one more akin to a flirting competition than to a real attempt to rile each other past the point of no return - or so saith Sherlock's pleasant but non-incendiary response. A competition was still good, though. Sufficed for stalling with _flair_ rather than crushing, confusing uncertainty.

" _Start_ with a bed? Hmm, here I thought I'd have to buy you dinner first..." 

The cheapest of come-ons, as come-ons went. But Sherlock was still relatively _new_ , wasn't he, and might find them mostly ridiculous but a touch exciting, too.

-

A dramatic sigh followed Jim’s rebuttal, Sherlock sounding all the more wistful and petty than he actually felt. Half of this was shrouded in truth but the other half simply liked the side of himself that Jim brought out, playful and...witty. Whimsical, even. Lazing around on the sofa most of the day, flirting with a man whose name was often whispered and shrouded in mystery. It felt like being part of something secret and tantalizing and if that didn’t excite him, he was hard-pressed to find something that would.

“If you must. Might have to skip straight to dessert, but not if you don’t tell me _where_ this is taking place.”  

-  
Jim's mind crashed back immediately to earth, a planet best known nowadays for all the concerns he'd been mulling over the past several days. The new building's doorman was not only likely bribe-able, but also elderly. Were he to perish of seemingly natural causes the day after witnessing Sherlock come and go, disguised or otherwise, no one might bat an eye.

Still, his stomach churned at the thought of reminding Sherlock of precautions, simultaneously at the necessity for them but also the likely offense his clever love would take at being remined like a child. Useless thoughts. Apparently the promise of pleasant provocations wasn't entirely enough to chase such worries away.

Might be different in person, in Sherlock's beautiful hands.

Might not.

Only one way to find out, really. And it said something for Sherlock, that Jim's very blood seemed to sing at the prospect.

"I'll...have someone drop off my...current address, tonight," he said finally, clearing his throat. "And a time."

_And an alias._

"But don't get too excited, Sherlock. There's little  _more_ than a bed, so not much fun for deductions."

Smash the illusions of grandeur in advance. Sherlock was probably picturing a world of new information about Jim and the _ways_ he ran his empire is not the specific means, but the new flat held far less of that than his favorite, most secure storage space. Sad occasional reality of the consulting criminal's life, that his suits made a better impression than the living spaces he could abandon with abandon.

-

Don't get excited, sure. Jim probably assumed he would find excitement out of more pieces of the puzzle, so to speak, more clues that might lead him to have a better understanding of the nasty business that the man got up to in his line of work. Something he would have jumped on at their first chance meeting, information he could sink his teeth into and most likely be satiated for weeks. It was a pretty little thought but ultimately redundant. He didn't need to go digging arond in secret for information, finding it...dirty, in a way. Best not to let Jim know that.

"You underestimate how much I can tell from just a bed," Sherlock teased, though he was telling the truth. A fountain of information if he wanted to know what side of it Jim slept on and if he had lumbar issues or not. "But, fine. Deductions off limits. I eagerly await your correspondence," he said, putting on his best posh accent in an effort to mask the mix of nerves and anticipation towards their next meeting.

-

_Like what, how often I have a wank?_ Good thing Sherlock kept talking, though, because that would have made Jim out a _slob_. Just because he sometimes lived a nomadic, near-Spartan life didn't mean he didn't wash his damn sheets. _You probably could. But a near-empty flat's gonna drive you a little crazy. I hate how much I can't wait to see that._

The affected air made Jim roll his eyes, wondering how Sherlock could go from sexy to unnerving to simply _cute_ so quickly, and  _jealous_ that Sherlock felt at ease enough for such. He  _wished_ he felt at ease. Heavier than usual lay the head that wore the crown.

"And I eagerly await tomorrow," he managed to say smoothly, already distracted by thinking through the best avenue to get the address to Sherlock. He wasn't sure he trusted even his own technology the way that he used to, for such matters. A passing paranoia but one that led him to consider additional means of encryption...

Jim made a short kiss noise in parting, then hung up before Sherlock might feel awkwardly obligated to the do the same.

Sherlock's homeless 'network' could be a secure choice of messenger, so long as Jim framed the information the right way. Helpful for a _case_ , not for a glorified dalliance. _Take two hundred, cab it to Baker Street, you're expected, keep the change._ That simple. Simple or otherwise he didn't like the idea of leaving the flat, but who else could he trust to do things right and quietly with Moran out of town? So he'd dress down, dirty his hands only as far as passing a paper, and there'd be a plan whether he felt entirely ready for there to be one or not.

He didn't, quite.

His own fear had birthed an intention that mercilessly drove him to pretend he did. One good night with Sherlock, one _real_ and full night to themselves...

He felt they deserved that, in case things were soon to go well and truly to shit.

Jim knew he shouldn't be the only one aware enough to decide they deserved it. Wrong to keep Sherlock in the dark for even a minute, much less nearly a week; of _course_ he knew that was wrong.

But it'd be a difficult or even futile attempt, wracking his memory for a single time when  _that_ had ever stopped him.

-


End file.
